


Captain's Duty

by madwriteson



Series: Writer's Month August 2019 [2]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-typical Terrible Death Viruses, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriteson/pseuds/madwriteson
Summary: Writer's Month Prompt for August 2nd, 2019: Hurt/ComfortSam Lambert is dying. Elias Selberg is trying to keep him alive. Isabel Lovelace tries to help in the only way she knows how.





	Captain's Duty

“What's the situation with Lambert?”

Dr. Selberg rubbed his hands across his face, pushing his glasses up to his forehead, looking very old, and very tired, little lines of strain joining the wrinkles that already adorned his face. “There has been no improvement. I have not been able to bring his fever down, and at this rate there may be—no.” Selberg stopped himself, and returned his glasses to his face, looking Isabel directly in the eye. “Every twelve hours or so, the fever spikes again, well into the range where it becomes dangerous. I have done what I can, but there will be brain damage. Only question is the extent.” He paused once more to look over his shoulder, and continued in a low, exhausted voice. “If he survives.”

Isabel frowned. “Any idea what it is?”

“Some kind of virus... I... I don't know. There has been minimal response to anti-viral agent. He is stable for now, but with fever…” Selberg ran a hand over his scalp, looking frustrated. “This will likely get much worse. I have run every test I am capable of here, but equipment in this lab is older, less precise, and I have been unable to determine why his body is reacting so violently. If I still had access to my other lab…”

“Will it save him?”

Selberg looked away, not answering, and Isabel grabbed him by the shoulder. He shrugged her off.

“Come on Doc, give me a straight answer. If you get access to the equipment in your old lab, will you be able to save him?”

Selberg opened his mouth as if to speak, and then sighed, looking defeated. “…no. I could perhaps identify what is affecting him and why, but there would be no guarantees.”

Isabel felt that piece of news like a blow, low to her gut, but no time now to reflect on that. Not when they were all working extra shifts, not when Command hadn’t responded to any of their distress calls. “Then don't even think about it. Last thing we need while dealing with a reduced crew size is mutant death spiders roaming the station. We all end up dead that way.” She paused and sized Selberg up. He was stubborn… but even his resources weren’t inexhaustible, and he was on hour 40 of what had started as a 12 hour shift. “When was the last time you got a full night's sleep in, Doc?"

“A man's life is at stake. That is above everything. Sleep is irrelevant.”

Isabel snorted. “It's not irrelevant if Lambert has another collapse and you're too exhausted to do what needs doing. You've been sleeping in your lab for the past few days - hell, I'm pretty sure you've been getting up in the middle of the night to look after him for way longer than that, and I can't imagine that's been particularly restful. So let me help.”

Selberg slumped a little, shutting his eyes, and Isabel suspected that if they had been on Earth instead of weightless, he would have collapsed to the ground. “Captain…”

“Let me help, Selberg.” Isabel reached out and took him gently by the shoulders. Selberg wasn’t big on physical contact, but he leaned into her for a moment this time. “You go eat a real meal, get some uninterrupted sleep. I'll take care of Sam,” she said, as gently as she was able.

Selberg straightened up, shrugging Isabel’s hands off of his shoulders once again. “Very well. If there is emergency—”

“I’ll call you. Now tell me what to do.”

Fifteen minutes later, and Isabel pushed back the inner flap of the isolation tent Selberg had set up in his lab for Sam, wearing a facemask and a surgeon’s cap and gown. Sam looked awful; his skin sloughing off in pieces, bubbles of dried blood clinging to him where skin had cracked, and, what he probably found most annoying of all, a full week and a half of beard growth.

“Hey there, Lieutenant,” Isabel said quietly. Lambert’s eyes cracked open and he glared at her.

“Where’s…”

“Selberg? Selberg desperately needed to get a solid meal into him and at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, so you’re just going to have to deal with my tender ministrations today.”

Sam couldn’t seem to open his eyes very wide, but Isabel was pretty sure he rolled them at that pronouncement, and even more sure when he forced out a sarcastic “Oh... good…”

Isabel smiled wryly. “Hey now. None of that attitude, or I might turn right around and take my gifts with me.”

Sam’s eyes opened a little wider. “Gifts?”

Isabel grinned, forgetting for the moment that Sam wouldn’t be able to see it under the face mask, and held up a disposable razor and a set of clippers that were attached to an independent vacuum unit. “Ta-dah! I noticed you were getting a bit, well, fuzzy. I thought you might like a trim. Doc says it's okay as long as I avoid any of the irritated patches of skin and sterilize the equipment after.”

Sam managed a weak grin at that, the skin at the corner of his mouth cracking open as he did. “My... Hero…”

Isabel forced herself to keep the smile on her face and her voice. No thinking about how bad Sam had gotten, how quickly. She was here to cheer him up. “And now I know it takes having a fever of over a hundred and the promise of personal hygiene to make you smile. Your standards are way too high, Sam.”

“Don’t…”

“Don't call you Sam, I know.” She set up the vacuum and started assessing the beard on Sam’s face, trying to figure out where to start. “You know I just like needling you.”

Sam’s eyes drifted shut, but a little smile returned to his face. “I… know…”

Isabel kept up a careful banter about the station, about Hui and Fourier and Rhea, as she trimmed what she could of Sam’s beard and hair. He didn’t respond, but the smile stayed on his face, and that, if nothing else, was heartening.

“You'd better get well soon, Sam,” she said as she packed the shaving gear back up. “I’m going a bit stir-crazy out there with no one but nerds to argue with to all day.”

Sam opened his eyes to a squint once more. “I’m… a... nerd... too…”

“Yeah, but at least you're an Air Force nerd.”

“And... best... at... arguing…” Sam’s smile grew a little bigger, and the crack at the corner of his mouth opened wider. Isabel dabbed at it with a bit of sterile toweling.

“Eh, the others can hold their own. And Fourier's gotten better at not looking like a wounded gazelle when I shout at her.”

Sam groaned. “Captain.”

“Well, I don't shout at her much.” Isabel opened the thermos of warm water she’d brought in with her and pulled out the washcloth she had stashed inside, using it to wipe Sam’s face and head clean. “Shave and a haircut, two bits. Feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Think you could eat something now, or no?”

Sam gave his head a small shake. “No. Nap.”

Isabel took a deep breath and forced her smile back on. “All right. We'll try in a bit, okay? And I'll be right here until then.”

Sam did not respond beyond a brief wave of his hand. A few moments later, she heard a whispery, wheezy snore coming from him.

Isabel clenched her jaw, hard, and watched over him.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a part of what was going to be the Lambert section of [The Way They Died](https://madstuart.tumblr.com/post/171312274393/i-think-this-is-about-the-halfway-point-of-the), only I've given up on ever turning it into a comic so might as well convert it to prose.


End file.
